


6:30

by YourResidentGinger



Series: Good Morning. [2]
Category: A-Team (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:43:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourResidentGinger/pseuds/YourResidentGinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Face wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	6:30

**Author's Note:**

> One of those ideas that won't let you go to sleep at night and will continue haunting you until you write them down.  
> First written in a series that essentially follows each member of the A-Team in the morning, though it is not chronologically the first.  
> Can all be read out of order.

The morning sun made its way through the gap between the curtains. Not wanting to open his eyes yet, Face lay in the comfortable warmth of the sun and the covers for a few more minutes. Finally opening his eyes, he glanced at the hotel-standard alarm clock. A couple of minutes past 6. He'd make it. Easy.  
He sat up and stretched. Looking behind him as he yawned, his eyes rested upon the stunning blonde he'd picked up the night before.

 _Sarah, Suzy, Sally, Sandy, Stella.. something with an 'S'._

Putting his socks on, he looked around the room, spotting his suit neatly draped over a chair. Spontaneous nights of passion are all fun and games but if you can't get away looking spotless the next day you're just not playing the game well enough. Pants on, belt fastened and shirt buttoned – all with practiced silence as to not awaken sleeping beauty, of course – Face looked for his wallet. He pulled out a 'hastily' pre-written " _emergency at the office_ " excuse note and left it on the dresser by the door. He wouldn't leave the poor girl without some closure, artificial as it may be. Besides, the ' _mysterious disappearing stranger_ ' routine was tacky. He figured he should probably feel worse about this type of thing. Some introspective psychobabble about abusing the trust of others so easily when his own faith in people had been thrown back in his face so often over the years.  
His curiosity got the better of him and he took a quick look in the blond's purse. Lipstick, mirror, address book ( _its most recent addition the friendly businessman Steve Richardson_ ), cigarettes, hairbrush and – ah! – wallet.

' _Melissa'. Oh well, close enough._

He put the driver's license back in place and put it back in the purse. Couldn't be expected to remember everything, could he?  
On the subject of trust, wouldn't he be a pretty lousy conman if he kept each and every promise he made? A couple of ' _forgive me Father, for I have sinned_ ' were part of his daily routine.

Outside, he straightened his tie and checked his watch. Without having to look he knew the van had pulled up, recognizing the hum of the engine instantaneously. 6:30 on the dot. He smiled.

 _"Get in, Face."_

The self-reflecting moral debates could wait another day.


End file.
